


He

by BrahmsyLove



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Classical Music, Exhibitionism, F/M, Mutual Pining, Secrets, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:09:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrahmsyLove/pseuds/BrahmsyLove
Summary: I plan on coming back to this when Gold is finished *sobs*.





	1. Blessing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Finding You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302297) by [AppleSpice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSpice/pseuds/AppleSpice). 



> I plan on coming back to this when Gold is finished *sobs*.

* * *

_“What’ll it be, ma’am?”_

I dropped my left ear phone on my lap and turned to stare at the stout, middle-aged gentleman standing above me. Secretly, I closed my eyes and smiled to myself.

The thick, Scottish accent reminded me of a young boy’s grandfather. The man's old-fashioned tie was almost tucked completely underneath a tight, sage-colored vest and his crisp, white, button down shirt was layered with a cozy looking tweed jacket.

It all gave him an aura of comfort, somehow. I thought of this ghost grandson that he might have, crawling into his lap at the end of the day and scratching at his beard. Perhaps the smiling grandmother was nearby, wiping her hands on her apron, preparing their Scottish supper.

I didn’t know who this man was and by the looks of him, he couldn’t really care less to learn who I was.

“Latte, please…..and a water?”

I hated answering questions with questions.  It’s a pet peeve that other people have and perhaps because of the people-pleasing nature, I try to always be mindful and not make the faux pas a habit of my own.

“Comin' richt up,” the grandfather answered and turned back to the old, wooden bar.

I readjusted my left ear phone, settling back into Chopin’s “Grande Valse” and returned to my familiar ruminations again.

The café was intimate enough that it provided any needed privacy by patrons. It was spacious enough that one could still seem anonymous if a crowd made it in.

I still couldn’t believe that I mustered up the courage to finally make it to the land of the Scots after years of only entertaining wistful daydreams. Over time, the innocent enough thoughts turned into flirty, little reminders of this land; listening to my favorite Scottish band or hearing an actor’s sexy accent in a movie only added to my growing fondness for this gorgeous country. My analytical mind would always get the better of me, though, forcing my thoughts to turn themselves inside out and ask myself why I needed to come. And why  _here_?

I yearned to start a new life away from America and even though I had never been to this country, I always had felt that I’d _belonged_  here somehow. I made a promise to myself to quell my restlessness and go on with my dream with a hope that maybe my geographical cure would be the elixir for something new to come. Though I had always heard that a geographical change is never a cure, and no matter where I end up, I would always be left with myself, my problems and ultimately, my past.

For now, it was enough that I get to hear a Scottish accent anytime that I want. I thought then of the taxi driver that brought me into town, whose thickly accented drivel I couldn’t make out. I’m sure that he must’ve politely asked me questions to make conversation, to which I had no idea how to answer. I just smiled and nodded as he drove us along, enjoying the symphony of his voice.

I stared dreamily outside the large, floor to ceiling window next to my table. The natural light streaming in was soft and pale golden, illuminated from the lush landscape on the other side.

The small, round table where I was sitting inside the cozy, little shop belied the reality that this mystical town is a part of something much greater. The people, the culture, the air, the vibe-all of it-made me realize what a fortune it was to be here, now, surrounded by this historical beauty.

_“Ahem.”_

I snapped my head around for the second time to find the source of the English accent behind me. A young kid in his mid-twenties was standing over me with a quizzical smile on his face.

“How’re you?” he asked.

“I’m fine. How are you?” I answered, both curious and annoyed at being awakened from another daydream.  

I couldn’t escape my musings even after my greatest dream actually came to life.

“Very well. Are you part of the Rosslyn Chapel paranormal group?”

I looked back at my computer and completely forgot what I had been doing earlier or that I even needed the Internet.  He seemed somewhat abrupt as if he just wanted to get to the point of the conversation. It caught me off guard and suddenly I felt like the big fish in the cafe's small fish bowl.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I was just looking some stuff up around the area. I thought about going exploring there.”

He didn’t have to know that I was into that “stuff”.

I felt silly. A grown woman, in her 30s, ghost hunting. I mean, I guess that it wasn’t weird to me, but I was a stranger in a strange land and it felt like I had to start with some kind of clean, human slate and rid myself of any characteristics which might somehow raise eyebrows. For now, I wanted to blend in a little before I ventured out on my own and settled into my own skin.

“Well, if you’re into that stuff, you should really take a gander over to the other side of the UK.”

He pronounced “stuff” with two Os, which made me inwardly smile at the stark difference in the way I was used to hearing the word.

“There’s a haunted mansion in an English town called Cheshire that’s sort of become really famous recently. Well, I guess if you’re into that kind of stuff,” he continued, making me outwardly smile this time, only I used the opportunity to act polite and interested.

“'Ere yer, ma’am,” the grandfather said as he laid my coffee and water on the tiny table next to me.

“Dae ye care fur anythin' else?”

“No,” I answered the old man kindly. “Thank you.”

“Guid day, Mr. Jonathon,” said the young boy to the older man.

His English accent suddenly turned Scottish and he now spoke in local dialect.

“Guid day, Benneit,” Grandfather Jonathon replied and turned towards the bar again.

The young boy stared at me and smiled.

“I’m Benneit.” He extended his hand to me. I shook it. “That’s such a nice name.”

“Thank you,” he answered. “It’s a lot simpler to say than to spell,” he said with a small laugh.

“Does it mean anything?” I asked.

“Bless’d,” he replied.

“That’s very nice,” I said with an intrigued smile.

“I’m Stella.”


	2. Imposter

* * *

“Hi Stella,” Benneit replied.

He was still looking at me. I couldn’t decide what the expression was. _Hopeful? Anxious?_

“Please have a seat, Benneit.”

I made a small place for him at the already tiny table. I closed my laptop and scooted it over to make room for him. He gestured towards it after sitting down.

“How long have you been a member of the ghost society?” he asked.

 _God, really?_ Was he going to continue and pry with _that_?

It was really none of his business and I felt self-conscious anyway without having to draw more attention to my embarrassing hobby. It was personal to me. Sacred, even. There wasn’t much to do in terms of ghost hunting at home. I knew that there was more rich history overseas than anywhere else. I mean, there were magical rocks that appeared out of nowhere that people visit from around the world. I couldn’t wait to see _them_.

“I’ve been a member for a couple of years. We have quite a few ghost hunting groups in the States, but they’re scattered all over. There weren’t very many where I lived so really all that I could do was go online and watch the adventures on TV.”

 _There_.

Maybe now he would see that I’m just an amateur visiting a foreign country looking for a silly, harmless adventure while vacationing.

Benneit smiled languidly.

“Well, like I said, our very own England has more to offer for spook hunting than you’ll find anywhere. And it’s just around the corner.”

_Was this a sales pitch?_

“I really wasn’t planning on going there on this leg of my trip. I want to see The Highlands and explore the countryside here. Maybe next time.”

Perhaps my reply would seem acquiesced enough for him to drop it.

“Look. I’ll make a deal with you. If you come to the manor with me and you aren’t completely knocked off your feet, I’ll bring you back to Scotland, free of charge so that you can carry on with your sightseeing.”

I stared at him dumbfounded.

“Are you some sort of royal heir to have such an extravagant way of asking someone out on a date?” I laughed.

“It’s not a date,” he insisted. “Consider it a friendly gesture from one countryman to another countrywoman.”

He emphasized “woman.” I rolled my eyes and smiled. Inside I thought, What the hell? I’ve got nothing to lose. How can I pass up a free trip to another country AND see “The Greatest Haunted Attraction _in the World_?” Ha.

"Cheshire?” I conceded.

"Like the cat?"


	3. Flight

* * *

“Now, lookit, here, Mr. Benneit. I don’t want any funny business from you, you understand? I realize that you have been gracious enough to provide passage here and we have adjoining bed and breakfast rooms, but this is where it ends. Capisce?”

I smiled and tried to be nice without leaving the door open to any shenanigans from my world-traveled tour guide.

“Look,” Benneit offered.

“If I had other intentions, I assure you that they would have been filled before we left the café. My goal was just to guide you somewhere that I think you would really profit from. I know from experience in my own travels, things sometimes must be practiced in an abbreviated form.

"Please, just let this be my gift to you. Your adventure here is my gift in return.”

He didn’t specify what _kind_ of experience I would be having. Well, surely, he wouldn’t be sending me somewhere too dangerous. I mean, I’m always up for a little danger, within certain parameters, of course.

“Thank you, Benneit. This is truly a generous and kind gift. I don’t often meet like-minded people who share such an unusual hobby. I am sorry that I have no way of reciprocating your gesture. Maybe we can meet up after my journey to the mansion. Would that be okay?”

I just wanted to get on with it and go to this damn haunted house. My curiosity had escalated from a small itch on the plane ride over here to a full-blown scratch-inducing tick.

“All right, then, Stella. As I said before, keep on the down low. The mansion isn’t exactly open for company. It hasn’t been deserted for very long, but because it’s so remote, not many people venture out to it.”

Well, not including _us_.

_What would I do if I needed to leave and somewhere safe to stay?_

I wasn’t keen on Benneit’s idea to spend the night alone in the mansion. That was completely absurd. I wasn’t that naïve or as serious of a ghost hunter. And the food supply that he left me to tide me over on my trip; that had to be the most bizarre thing ever. He did say that there was no electricity, so I wouldn't be able to make food or store it. Luckily there was a well that supplied water, though, if I showered, it wouldn't be warm.

The expensive trip over here pretty much covered the trade-off cost of my indoor wilderness experience.

Nevertheless, I could not wait until the morning came and I’d be on my own once again.


	4. Bramble

A new day arrived at last and Benneit and I ventured out to the empty mansion.

The hour-long ride in the rented car was quite beautiful. The rural town of Cheshire delivered what its playful name implied. There was a spirited sense of something that radiated from the charm of its red sandstone buildings. The allure to explore everywhere the car whizzed past was enticing. I forced my wandering thoughts to focus on the other unknown where I was now being driven to and where I would be able to explore at my own leisure.

***

We didn’t talk very much on the rest of the bumpy ride as we got farther away from the quiet village. I decided instead to roll down my window and just sit staring out at the sights that I'd never seen.

I enjoyed this chance to breathe in the cool country air. Its magnificent smell drew me into the landscape around me that held such exotic scents. A light, pine fragrance filled the atmosphere and I wished then that I had more time to research the area to know what was indigenous to it. The foliage was lush and alive and thick enough that it blocked out a lot of light from the sky.

I had forever loved the forest. When I was younger, I would go exploring in the woods whenever I could. I smiled to myself when I remembered how some kids and I would be on the lookout for dirty magazines that we would sometimes find laying on the wet ground, the pages tattered and wrinkled from many rains since the time that they were tossed out. I always thought that adults left them there because they were done with them. I didn’t think that perhaps kids our age had the good fortune of obtaining them so that they could read them in complete privacy. That was long before I would ever experience what I saw contained in them.

At other times, I would go exploring by myself, trying always to never stray too far from home, but far-off enough that I felt that I was on an adventure.  I remember just finding a simple place to sit; a log, the soft ground, somewhere shaded or warmed from the sun, whatever I needed.  It felt like my own private church or sanctuary.  This was _home_ to me and I felt safe, loved, and cared for by _something_.

Nature was my God, though I didn’t realize it at that young age.  I was always in the care of a greater power that filled me with comfort and calmed me through any fear.  I can’t remember ever feeling scared or threatened by the potential dangers that I know were always around a corner.  My unseen protectors were with me and I always made it back home safely, feeling like Robin Hood, feeling like a young _warrior_.

I felt the car take a sharp turn as Benneit steered his way off the unpaved road and a small, hidden path appeared to our right. We drove a little way further until we reached a tall, iron entrance gate. It was ornamental and intricately adorned with pretty, decorative scroll work on top. The road behind it was a bit run over by brush and bramble, but it was obvious that some time earlier when the private trail was maintained, it must’ve appeared like a real, live fairy-tale.

Benneit stopped the car and walked to the entrance. He leaned against it and pushed hard, walking with it until there was enough momentum to swing in all the way. We drove the rest of the way down the narrow path until we reached our destination.

_Finally._

***

I drew in my breath when I saw it.

It was magical. I just couldn’t think of a better word for this spectacular mansion. I had never experienced anything with such magnitude and stature.

 _Man, I hit the jackpot_.

The massive Victorian manor looked to have been built in the late 19th century.  Exquisite stained-glass windows were tucked behind small, rounded balconies.  Roofs of varying heights sat atop four different levels, all with their own character and size, eventually coming to their own points many feet above. 

Their red façade cast a pleasant contrast against the grayish slate color of the stone work covering the outside and in between the multitude of large windows. Each element of design was intricate and elaborate making it evident that a special kind of love lay in the foundation of the house.

***

From what little Benneit had told me earlier, an older couple spent their entire lives here before recently passing away. Their young boy tragically died over 20 years ago and was the main reason for the haunting. Evidently, once the couple was no longer in the picture, rumors of the now desolate home began. Benneit said that the recent event wasn’t well-known or that important outside of the town, but the story of the mysterious haunting didn’t take long to draw in local paranormal groups.

***

When we arrived at the main entrance, Benneit helped me gather my luggage and carry the supply of food and water. We made our way up the wide steps in front of the huge, front entrance of the house, but he stopped once we were at the top and didn’t venture inside.

“Alas, dearest, this is where my journey ends and yours begins. I think that you’ll find your stay here something exceptional that you can share with your American ghost hunting groups. It’s been a pleasure being with you these couple of days.”

We were standing just outside the large front doors when Benneit leaned over quickly and hugged me, taking me by surprise. It was a tight hug and when he let go, he gave me a small kiss on my cheek.

It felt strange. Especially since he seemed distant when we started our travel today and he wasn’t at all talkative. I assumed that he was bored and maybe expecting something more than a casual travel companion. I suppose anyone else may have thanked him for his generosity in a more intimate way, so maybe I let him down. At least he was a gentleman about it. But his intimate gesture made me feel as if he was leaving me on some island far and away from the rest of the world. The look in his scared eyes had a sense of him being sorry.

_Sorry for a doomed stay here or of something more that he was feeling?_

_Guilt?_

_Did he know that what I was getting into was much more than he shared with me?_

***

He turned as I watched him take the few steps down to the car that he left running. He bent down into it and started the drive around the circled path that was covered in small, brown pebbles.

***

The tall, old trees in the middle of the driveway’s circle blocked sight of the car and I could no longer see it after he made his way around the small bend. I stood there quietly until I couldn’t hear the engine sounding.

I was now surrounded by the sounds of the forest around me.

_What had I gotten myself into?_


	5. Musk

I placed my hand on the large, brass door handle and was surprised to feel it click freely.  I pushed the great, wooden structure open as slowly as I could with my right hand.  With my mouth and eyes open wide, I _very_ carefully and _very_ apprehensively peered at whatever was behind that door.

***

The musty smell hit my senses immediately.  The air inside was filled with dust and I could see particles of them floating against the light of the setting sun behind me, making them slowly dance around.  What lay behind the dust in the rest of the entrance was darkness and my eyes had to slowly adjust to the low light.

I left my things on the front step for now, as I was more attuned to gauging the safety of my surroundings. I pushed the heavy door open the rest of the way and took my first steps inside.

***

As I stood at the inside entrance, I suddenly felt small.  The ceilings all around me were very high.  They went as far up as the first-floor landing above the grand, wooden staircase ahead on my left.  Everywhere around me, I was surrounded by wood; an ornate side table to my right; in front of me a small hallway with walls lined completely in dark paneling; to my left a grand room, dimly lit by the light caught from the tall front windows. Dust particles floated all around the lavish drapery as the sun illuminated them in the fading sunlight.  The velvety fabric on the chairs and the large sofa that sat in the middle of the room had a small layer of dust on the material.

My eyes then noticed the white candles and their black wicks.  They stood in their own candleholders on every piece of furniture that had a flat surface.  All the wicks looked used and the candles were of varying lengths next to each other as if the larger ones had been carried elsewhere and then returned being placed randomly against the smaller ones that never left the room.

The huge fireplace and dark, marble mantle was almost completely covered in more candles.  If there were personal objects or mementoes anywhere, they must have been stored away since someone obviously needed their spaces for the only sources of light in the house.

It would be completely dark soon and I would need those candles.  I walked gingerly into the rest of the large front room and stood next to a table beside the overstuffed, comfortable sofa.  I couldn’t see anything that would have given these candles their flames, but there must’ve been something, somewhere that would have lit them all.

I walked slowly around the room, taking in all that I could in what was left of the dying light.  It was beautiful, no doubt.  I quietly admired the wooden walls that surrounded me.  The wood all over the place felt as if I was in the middle of my beloved forest.

***

I just couldn’t believe that I was actually here.  It was one thing to be in a strange country alone with people and resources within reach.  This house felt like its own land and I had nowhere to turn, literally. Talk about a stranger in a strange land.

I was aware then that soon it would be dark.

***

The air remained dense and quiet and for whatever reason, I felt _safe_.  I sensed from the atmosphere something _familiar_ and it began to have another interesting scent to it.

_Organic? Human?_

It too, felt weirdly calming, like I wasn’t alone.

_Musk.  It was musk from a person._

_Here was the adventure that I wanted._


	6. Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I had to make quite an important adjustment to this chapter that involves little Brahms's face. I can't believe that I missed this huge detail!
> 
> If anyone is reading this, I am open to any suggestions or corrections that you might see in the story. Please be gentle, as this is my first time writing fanfic.
> 
> Thank you all!

* * *

I shuffled back to the entrance and pulled my luggage and food supply into the house, then turned back around to shut the heavy door behind me.

_Did the great door have a lock on it?_

I saw a keyhole but no key.

_Ah well._

I wasn’t exactly a paying guest and I sure as hell had nothing to lose at this point as the outside world may be the only thing that provided me more safety than this place.

I started to roam around the house in search of matches, continuing to soak up what I could around me before the dark set in.

***

I found another hallway that connected with the front entry and followed it around to a kitchen. The room was far from any light so I had to squint a little to make my way around. I grabbed drawer handles and looked inside for anything that I could use to help me see. No flashlights. No matches. Just more candles on the counters and a large, wooden island in the middle.

I searched every corner and kept walking until another long hallway appeared with a few rooms along the sides; the first being a study with tall bookshelves in the walls. It was rather dark so I didn’t stop to go inside. A few more rooms had closed doors and after peering inside, they didn’t seem to offer much in my hunt, either.

I made my way back around until I was in the large main room again and at the bottom of the huge flight of steps near the front door. I decided to take them up to the second landing and slowly began the climb up the wide, wooden stairs. Holding the smooth, antique handrail, I felt like royalty somehow, as if I should be walking slowly, with grandiose purpose.

_Man, this place is really something else. How can people live like this?_

Well, in the case of the old, dead couple, _lived._ But still, to die in the only home that one’s ever lived on privately owned land, a home this beautiful and majestic; one really must have had great fortune to have experienced this. Financial and otherwise.

_***_

I finally reached the top of the stairs and gazed down at the first floor. I could see tops of white candles in the now nearly dark room; candles which I really needed to get lit.

***

I continued my walk down a long, carpeted hallway and came to the first entrance on my right. It was furnished like a bedroom with a small bed along the left wall and surrounded by short, wooden bookshelves and children’s toys: a small bicycle, some colorful bouncing balls. And…what now caught my eye was something propped up on the bed pillow.

Looking closely, I saw that it was a small figure of what appeared to be a doll, almost child-sized and incredibly life-like. It resembled a young boy around the age of 7 or 8 wearing a light blue, buttoned-down pajama set. He was laying against the pillow on his very real bed.

I had never seen a doll appear so realistic and yet not be scary; its presence completely pulled me in closer and whatever fear and anxiety that I felt just moments before trying to establish safety for the night completely subsided.

I walked nearer still and was instantly transfixed by his large, melancholy eyes. They held a kind of sad anticipation and a desperate hope reflected deeply behind them.

His small face was lined with tiny cracks, as if the porcelain had broken into a million pieces and then reconstructed and put back together with meticulous effort. He seemed so human and it was evident that someone definitely took great pains to have the doll look as real as possible. His tiny mouth held a diminutive smile, almost hidden behind the small flaws around it, but it was there, nonetheless.

His short, black hair was parted gently on the side and partially covered the tiny cracks of his forehead. The rest of his skin was pure white porcelain; his neck and tiny hands flawless and smooth.

His sad, sweet eyes drew me closer to the rest of his features. The rough exterior of his face somehow held emotions trapped behind it. The intricate cracks were only small pieces that were a part of a much greater whole. The broken fragments lining the boy’s face only added to the near-human imperfections; his eyes held more emotion and life than the perfect exterior that they were trapped behind.

***

I stood above him, taking in all that I could. I sunk down into the bed so that I could be that much closer. The boy stared with his eyes, not at me; at _nothing_ , but I was still captivated. I reached out towards his leg and touched the crisp, cotton fabric covering it. Its hardness felt tiny and small underneath the thin material.

My fingers ran across his little belly and I dropped them to feel his tiny, porcelain hand lying by his side. I gently picking it up and held it in my palm, feeling his small, cold fingers warm up in my palm.

I kept looking at his face after placing his hand carefully back down. I reached both of my arms out, compelled to pick him up and draw him closer to me.

I felt something very strange holding him. As we gazed at each other at eye level, I could feel his small weight in my arms.

In my mind, he had come alive.

***

Someone created this doll, not as a toy but as a mirror image of someone real. This little boy was an actual person before he was a doll; a child, before he was made into a toy. I don’t know how this made sense and I didn’t know if it even was a knowing, but in that moment he and I were suddenly connected.

I pulled him close to my chest, placed my palm on his back and just held him. I could feel his cold, hard face against my shoulder as I started to rub his back with my thumb. I sat like that for a while and felt very strange, even stranger than this entire scenario.

***

I began to cry, slowly at first. I felt tears come to my eyes and the familiar burning in my eyelids. Gradually, my eyes welled up and the first tear fell and then another. Before I could comprehend what was happening to me, I was sobbing.

It was the single, strangest experience that I’d ever had. With all of my ghost hunting, paranormal adventures and even the tv shows that I had seen about inanimate objects having residual hauntings, this was a first for me. This was personal; special.

I pulled the boy doll away from me and sat him facing me on my lap. I slowly touched the tiny cracks of his delicate face and traced my fingers over the broken lines. I brushed the soft hair on his forehead to the side as I sat there and wept.

_What’s your name, darling?_

What is happening to me? Where are my thoughts coming from?

_Please don’t be afraid. I promise that I won’t leave you alone._

Is this a trick? Is this Benneit and will some camera come out of nowhere and people will start laughing at a joke?

_I’ll stay with you if you let me and we’ll keep each other company, ok?_

I heard knocking around me just then. I froze as my senses came alive to only listen to the sudden, unexpected sound. It wasn’t a door knock and appeared to come from inside the room. The noise was of something like pipes settling or metal clanging, but more solid and not as hollow sounding.

Then, I heard a rolling sound follow the knocking. It was like a bowling ball was being moved down a bumpy surface before coming to a quick stop against a wall.

Then the sounds stopped.

I looked back at my boy doll and realized that we needed light.

_Right now._

***

I placed him back on the bed where my eyes caught sight of the wooden nightstand on the left. I reached for the handle and opened the small drawer. There inside next to a deck of cards and some crayons and colored paper were packs of matchboxes. Before I could think, I grabbed one and searched around the room for candles. Of course, there were many of them on every solid surface, including the nightstand, so I quickly lit a couple and glanced quickly to see how much light they produced.

I stood up and continued to find more candles on the bookshelves and on top of a small, wooden desk. I lit them all and soon the room was filled with a soft, glowing light.

I peeked back at the doll and his features had now come alive. The candlelight warmed the features of his entire face and his quiet smile had grown into something _more_. His big eyes were brighter and his cheeks and nose gave off shadows that flickered, animating the rest of his small face

All at once he looked like a sweet, little boy and not a cold, lifeless doll. Earlier, there appeared to be life and I felt it when I held him. Now, however, it was as if his tiny spirit or whatever it was that I felt against my chest that made me weep had settled inside and had now matched his outsides.

I walked over to him then and sat on his bed. I lay down on my side and touched his tiny foot with my outstretched arm. I continued to stare at him like that and suddenly felt very tired. My eyes still burned from my earlier tears and now they were burning from fatigue.

I remained there a few moments longer, holding the boy doll's little foot in my hand and before long, my eyes remained closed as I went to sleep.


	7. Grow

* * *

_I could hear my favorite classical music playing in my head. I was outside. The air was so fresh, so different and so new.._

_The atmosphere was crisp. Tall trees surrounded me and the earth underneath my bare feet felt cool. I felt incredibly alive in my own skin for the first time in such a long time. The ground that I was walking along was soft; I had felt hard surfaces underneath my bare feet for so long, but I had never before experienced this sensation._

_Not in this body._

_The brightness of the forest created a kind of light that was new and vivid. I was now able to see this world with my new senses. I could finally smell the air and the trees._

_I felt tears begin to surface, but they were connected to an emotion that I had not known before. I had only ever cried from extreme fear and anger. And loneliness. I had forever been alone._

_Not far behind me I heard a girl shouting with laughter._ _I knew the voice and it now made me feel something more. Pure joy. It reminded me that I was safe for the first time._

_I had come alive from a death that filled the existence of my entire life. She brought me to this new place, to this new reality._

_My eyes became more wet as I let this new happiness flow from me._

_I could hear her closer behind me now, trying not to laugh. Then her cool hands were on my face, over my eyes as she stopped me and held herself against my back._

_Though I couldn’t see her, I could taste her kiss. I could feel the touch of the rest of her sweet skin again my own._

_A strong desire compels me to turn around so that I can see her and hold her completely with everything that I could now feel. I want her to know this love that was consuming me. I want to thank her and I want so much for her to remain with me as much as I want this beautiful moment to never end._

_She laughs openly now and I can feel her reach around to look at me as she squeezes me hard from behind._

_***_

  
I wake up to bright light surrounding me and am surprised to find my eyes wet with tears that I couldn’t remember crying.  I felt like I suddenly had to cry some more from the weird dream that I just had, feeling only a lump in my throat from unspent tears. 

I lay there for a moment before I slowly let myself begin to sob.  I had no idea who the dream was about or how I could have had one from another person’s point of view.  But I was emotional, nonetheless and had to release whatever it was that was welled up inside me.

Through my tears, I could still see the doll lying next to me on the bed. 

_Of course, he was. Where would he go?_

My arm remained close to his short legs and I recalled the strangeness that I felt when I discovered him last night.

I closed my eyes and felt all the emotions pour out as I continued to cry. I took a few deep breaths and the rawness began to slowly subside.

My stomach growled loudly then, breaking the silence.

I sat up and looked around the room. I could see all of the candles that I lit not long ago that were spent once again with their stiff, black wicks.

I had to eat. I made my way downstairs to retrieve my things and find some food.

***

To my shock and surprise, the food carrier and my luggage were nowhere in sight. I froze and my heart began to beat uncontrollably.

_Had I put them somewhere and forgotten? Was it so dark last night that I couldn’t see where I put them?_

Now I was really scared.

_God, was this the start of the haunting??_

I just stood there not knowing what else to do. The adrenaline left me shaking and my blood sugar was now plummeting. Instinct found me walking to the kitchen in search of anything that I could find to eat.

When I approached the kitchen threshold, I was astonished once again.

Food, from what I guessed was from the supply given to me by Benneit had now been laid out neatly on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen. Trembling, I walked slowly over to it and stopped to look carefully around the entire room for who could have put everything there. I inspected the perimeter until I reached the other side of the kitchen to the hallway.

There was nothing or no one.

I turned back to the counter and assessed my choices.  Granola bars. Protein bars.  A cereal box.  A few quarts of milk.  Plastic bags of trail mix.  Bananas. Apples. Some grapes. Small cartons of apple and orange juices.

And there, further down the counter sitting on their own, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of jelly and a loaf of bread.  It was as if someone had placed them there as an afterthought.

So, whatever the hell this was, it was planned and orchestrated with careful thought.  It couldn’t have been a ghost and was perhaps instead a part of whatever experience this visit to the mansion was supposed to be.

My shaky hunger forced me to eat a banana and one of the protein bars.  I devoured them and then went for the orange juice and drained that.  Feeling satiated, I walked around the kitchen some more.  I opened cupboards and pantries and found a very tiny supply of non-perishable food.  The refrigerator was of course empty and had a musty smell from it having been at room temperature for some time.

_Well, I don’t know how I am going to live like this for the next few hours, but I guess that I’m supposed to die of hunger and join in the haunting of this place._

I heard myself laughing at the absurd thought, but it suddenly felt good to find humor in something.  Anything. This experience was emotionally draining.  I felt like I was carrying the psyche of three people.  Mine, the boy doll and….I squinted my eyes and didn’t know how to finish the thought. 

_A third person?_

_God, I sighed.  This just…just. Damn._


	8. Alone

* * *

I decided that I had nothing else to do but to try and explore the rest of the house.  Maybe I would find more resources to help me through this very weird adventure.

I took the stairs back up to the second floor and was about to walk past the boy’s room when I stopped in my tracks after glancing quickly inside.

He was now dressed in new clothes and next to him was a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it and…

_…he was sitting up on the side of the bed._

My adrenaline kicked in once again stopping my breath before it could start back up with large heaves.

_Oh my god._

I knew with absolute certainty that someone had to be extremely close by watching, just waiting for some kind of reaction from me. I listened intently for a sound to indicate a presence and when I didn’t hear one, I carefully began to turn and look around me for signs of anyone.

Feeling an ounce of safety, I ventured into the room towards the bed. My new friend was sitting with much certainty dressed now in pleated, gray trousers and a white button-down shirt. A dark maroon tie with thin, white stripes was tucked underneath a charcoal, wool vest. He now had shoes on, black with tied shoelaces.

The doll seemed more alive now, maybe from the daylight on his skin  _or maybe because he was rested._

I sighed quickly as I drew my attention to the clipboard lying next to him.  The page secured to it had typewritten words on old-fashioned, yellow stationery.  There were only 10 lines, each numbered with short, very specific instructions.

 

**RULES**

 

  1. No Guests
  2. Never Leave Brahms Alone
  3. Save Meals in Freezer
  4. Never Cover Brahms Face
  5. Read a Bedtime Story
  6. Play Music Loud
  7. Clean the Traps
  8. Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries
  9. Brahms is Never to Leave
  10. Kiss Goodnight



 

So, this really had to be a game.  No ghost, no paranormal fun.  Just a stupid human trick at the expense of a dumb, naïve girl whose trusting heart got her in very deep.  Somebody must be laughing now from behind the walls at me.  

My eyes started to burn with tears as I looked back to the boy doll.  My connection with him was real.  No one could have put those thoughts I shared with him last night in my own head.  And if they weren’t mine, then the only explanation would be paranormal; psychic.  That at least gave me comfort.  So now, a friendly ghost provided more relief for me than the possibility of a human encounter that could get me out of here and back to the normal world.

I wasn't going to let anyone play games with me and who I am at my core.  Screw Benneit and whatever entertainment trap scheme he has going to lure unsuspecting victims in here.

_But why?  Why this elaborate game? Yes, played at my expense, but for whose profit?_


	9. Clean

* * *

 

I looked at the doll and smiled. 

_You and me? That hasn’t changed. I’m ok If you’re the only friend that I have here._

I picked the clipboard back up after throwing it on the bed in rage earlier.  I read the “RULES” again, slowly this time.

I pulled the paper out from underneath the silver clip and turned it around, putting it back underneath.  Walking over to the small nightstand, I found a red crayon inside that was sharp enough to write with. 

I sat down on the bed and I began to write some words of my own on my empty page.

 

**QUESTIONS**

  1. Is this a game?
  2. Are you a ghost?
  3. Are you the good kind?
  4. What is your name?
  5. Why are you here?
  6. Where can I find you?
  7. Am I able to see you now?
  8. Why was I brought here?
  9. When can I leave?
  10. Do you want me to go?



***

 _There_. That should tide _them_ over. I struggled with the second question and wondered if I should’ve asked out right if the ghost was real _and_ good. I tried to give whoever would read the questions the benefit of the doubt and not ask too much.  I should at least have some good answers and then perhaps I could get out of here in a reasonable way with some semblance of dignity left in me.

I laid the clipboard next to the boy and patted him softly on his head.  We’ll see if we can start again on a clean slate now.

“See you around,” I said out loud. 

They were the first words that I heard myself say in 24 hours.

I let out another long breath, then turned to walk out of the room, determined to find more answers to this embarrassing, frustrating drama.

***

Adjacent to the boy’s room was another bedroom just across the hall, but bigger. I immediately noticed some things on top of the fluffy, white quilt on the large bed.

_My clothes._

_But of course!_

I rolled my eyes and laughed knowing at this point that my privacy was gone and whatever was _mine_ now was exposed for anyone to take and do with as needed. 

“Thank you, kind Porter,” I said out loud once again to whoever was in charge.

I walked over to the bed surrounded by four, dark, wooden posters.  There, laid out perfectly on top, were all of my belongings.  Toiletries, clothes, my cell phone and my laptop.  Even a few pairs of shoes were on the floor below.

I picked up my cell phone expecting it not to work.  There was still quite a bit of charge, most likely due to the lack of a connected network.  It was now a glorified camera and alarm clock; my only reminder of civilization outside this mystery house.

I turned and surveyed the rest of the great room. Two large windows surrounded both sides of the huge bed’s tall headboard. A giant, green fern in the corner of the right side of the bed seemed alive and well taken care of. A closet to the right of the plant was next to a dresser. A mirror was attached to the top of its wooden surface which was covered with an old-fashioned doily. On the left side of the room was another dresser, higher and with more drawers.

I opened all of the furniture drawers, including the night stands and assessed where to put my clothes.  Everything was empty, so I picked the same dresser that my cell phone was on next to the closet.

Next, my toiletries and on to find a bathroom.  I stepped outside and found it at the first door on the left past the boy’s bedroom.

I walked in it and found it tiled completely in white.  A large, oval mirror hung over the shiny, porcelain sink.  A simple, frosted shower curtain surrounded the antique claw foot tub. Tucked against the left corner of the bathroom was a tall, wooden towel rack with what appeared to be a fluffy, white towel draped over the two rails.  I walked over to it and picked it up to feel its plushness.  Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a _very_ large towel that one could be completely wrapped around with which may as well also have served as a blanket. I smirked at the extravagance.

I remembered that there was no hot water, but at least there was a source.  I had never used well water to take a shower, but at this point, I could have taken a bath in a galvanized wash tub.

I set up my toiletries and walked over to the bathtub.  I tried the hot faucet first, just in case, but after a few moments, of course, the water didn’t heat up.  Out of habit, I turned on the cold, but then turned it off, in a mental game of thinking that the hot water would somehow catch itself up after I started to shower.

Without hesitation, I stripped off my dirty, travel-worn clothes that could have stood up by themselves they were so filthy.  I stepped in naked at last testing the temperature on my skin.  The water wasn’t ice cold, as I expected and I actually warmed up to it quickly.  I even started to enjoy the experience of having a private moment with myself.  Well, not completely private, but it was close enough.

I closed my eyes and let the water saturate every bit of my skin, washing off the top layer of yesterday’s journey and the old tears on my face letting my pores soak up every stimulating drop from that blessed well outside.

After I finished taking my sweet time and had completed a quite lavish lathering of myself and was able to finally shave everywhere, I stepped out of the tub and into the posh towel blanket.

_Heaven._

***

I padded with wet feet back to the bedroom and stood at itssomewhat familiar entrance.  I supposed that I had now settled into my palatial surroundings and had no intention of leaving this free mansion hotel.

I felt guilty, but only for a short second after remembering the mind games that were being played on me.  True, I had come here willingly and on my own accord with free transportation and boarding along the way.  But nothing comes for free completely and I tucked away in my mind what price I may have to pay and how soon… _again_.

I walked over to the bed and spread out on top of the cool, white cloud of the comforter feeling very much like a Cheshire cat that came from this very town. I peeked briefly at the bedroom door that I had partially shut and made the impulse decision to shed the damp robe from my body at once and lay naked on the plush decadence surrounding me. After closing my eyes and sighing out loud, I fell asleep with only the silence wrapped around me.


	10. Awake

* * *

 

My senses startled me wide-awake when I heard the sharp sound from the first floor.  Not ghostly.  Human.

I was inside the bedroom closet in a flash, huddled in the very back corner. It was only then that I realized I was completely buck naked.

I strained to make out any more noises but could only hear muffled sounds.  I figured out from where I was that the activity was coming from the kitchen. 

I heard the shuffling sound of feet and then… silence. 

I breathed as silently as I could while stretching out what seconds I had without being heard.  I sat there for a few more moments before I caught the fading sounds of footsteps and the loudness of the kitchen door shutting.

Someone had left from the side entrance of the house.

I relaxed a little against the wall behind me when I felt it give a little and I just about fell backwards.  Pulling myself up a bit, I turned to see as much as I could in the dark what I was leaning against. 

My hands felt the edges of a short, half door, about as wide as my shoulders, but the small, square frame didn’t give when I pushed.  My fingers trailed along either sides and I tried this time to pull and see if there would be any give towards me. I felt a budge and pulled harder before the thin piece of wood separated itself from the wall and opened.

***

I crouched there for a moment wondering what I should do. 

I was huddled naked in the dark at the back of a strange closet with a small door that had just opened up only tall enough to crawl through.

I pulled it the rest of the way towards me and looked to see what lay beyond it.  At first all I saw was complete darkness.  I was scared thinking that there would be something waiting for me on the other side that I couldn’t yet see.  But after a few moments, my eyes started to adjust and I could vaguely see what appeared to be a very long, low tunnel.  Small pockets of light were streaming in from outside of the shadowy walls.

I didn’t know what to think. 

_Was this some sort of secret passage that old mansions had? Was it a crawl space for storage?  Did it go anywhere?_

_Were there connecting tunnels that led further?_

_***_

I strained as much as I could without going in too deep.  I couldn’t imagine anyone watching me from here and suddenly felt refuge, sensing that this was the first moment that I had felt safe since arriving at the house.  And _alone_.

I timidly crawled my way back through the closet and into the bedroom where I crouched at the edge of the threshold listening for any more signs of someone in the house.  When it felt safe, I stood up and walked briskly over to the dresser to try and gain back some level of security in my clothes.

What I found then made my stomach plummet to my feet.  I was staring at bare wood inside the drawers with absolutely nothing in them.  No clothes. Empty.

_Oh jesus. Oh god._

I jerked around quickly at the rest of the room for any signs of the thief. There was nothing that gave away someone’s entry or of any further human, or otherwise, activity.

I glimpsed sight of the empty bed and found my towel gone, too.

My heart shot blood to my feet and I jumped, sprinting across the hall into the doll’s room. Thinking only of the small blanket that I remembered seeing on the trunk at the foot of the bed, I swooped in and grabbed it, paying no mind to anything else in the room.  The boy could have been standing on his head for all I knew. I didn’t care and just wanted the bareness of my skin protected from the watchful air around me.

I quickly draped the thin quilt around me, giving enough cover to at least gain back possession of myself and my dignity.

I peered into the hallway, with a little more confidence to judge the safety of my surroundings again. 

I walked towards a bedroom next to mine that I hadn’t yet been inside of.  I peered in from the threshold and found it to be larger than my room with a giant bed to my left and a bit more furniture.

I stepped inside feeling embarrassment from snooping. The room seemed occupied by what I felt was the residue of the old couple who had just died.  This must’ve been their bedroom.

I walked quickly to the closet and stepped inside. I could see on one side ladies clothes and men's on the other.  I rummaged quickly through the female wardrobe and found nothing but old-fashioned women’s clothing.

_Well, what did I expect?_

I was desperate but just couldn’t bring myself to walk around in a tweed skirt and a matching conservative blouse.

_Don’t these people have a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt or something?_

I looked now at the men’s clothing and found the same kind of selections.  I sighed and left the closet to rummage through drawers for the possibility of some lighter, less formal attire.

I skipped the high-waisted women’s briefs in neutral hues and the two beige and white color choices of polyester slips, limiting my slim selection down to the assortment of men’s boxers and wife beater tank tops.  

I chuckled. 

_Ain’t no wife-beatin’ in these parts of the forest._

Laughing nervously, I felt like Goldilocks’s character inside each of the three bear’s rooms, with boy doll being the youngest of them. 

At least now I only had to muster up the courage to slip on the biggest and darkest pair of boxers and tank top and figure out what I needed to do next.

***

I walked barefoot out of the room, feeling more modest now with my most exposed parts covered.  I preferred the feel of my bare feet on the ground and had yet to put any shoes on since I arrived, having taken mine off at the front door.

I turned to my left to see what was down the rest the hallway when I spotted a huge portrait at the very end.  I walked closer to it and found an enormous painted photograph of a tall, old couple that was standing behind a shorter, young boy. This must have been the couple that inhabited the house.

_Was the boy their grandson?_

He was quite adorable in the painting, and looked to be about 7 or 8 years old. He wasn’t smiling and looked quite contemptuous. His eyes reflected a shy sweetness and a small, hidden smile was buried behind his tiny mouth, as if there was life behind that serious, little face of his. 

Looking closer at him I noticed the delicate, youthful skin that outlined his soft features and smooth, dark brown hair covering his forehead. 

He was such a beautiful little boy and yet, so unusual with his formal appearing personality.

_He looked so familiar…_

I stared with widening eyes as I realized where I had seen him before. 

_My boy doll._

The portrait painted was of him.

 _Why was his doll persona here in the house in its own room and why was it important enough to have been created with such care and detail?_  

He, who touched my heart and made me cry, and seemingly _with him_ last night.

_What was the significance of his inanimate presence here?_

I touched the rough canvas of his soft, almost life-like face, and held my fingers there, wanting, no, longing to see him in the flesh.  I wanted so much to just scoop him up and love and kiss all over him, showering him with what was evidently missing from his short life. 

I felt sad again as I stared into his eyes, deep and soulful; eyes which would never grow and become part of a nurtured adult who would be able to see the joy that was his right to experience in life.

He was robbed of that chance but I had no idea how in the world I knew this to be true.

_His face told the story._


	11. Touch

I turned to walk the rest of hallway and look around a little more.  A few wooden end tables with old-fashioned lamps were scattered along the walls.  Tiny nick nacks lay on tops of doilies that promised a cozy atmosphere when there was enough light to illuminate the hallway.

A cord hanging from the ceiling caught my eye, indicating that this must have been the attic.  Its length was too short to reach and I glanced along the walls for something to try and pull it down.  I reached for a tall, metal rod that was propped up against the wall just next to me.  After inspecting it, I noticed a large hook on one end that must be where it loops into the cord's circle.

I picked the heavy rod up and carefully tried to grasp the cord.  It took a few tries to get the tiny hook into the small circle but at last it caught and I started to pull. A very loud creaking sound followed when the old wooden frame began to move and soon I could hear the metal springs begin to screech their way open.

I pulled more and had to jump quickly out of the way before the stairs almost crashed towards me, sending me flying backwards.  It happened so fast that I only had time to instinctively react without even seeing what was above the rectangular opening.

I sat on the floor straining my view to try and see inside but it was too dark, like so many other things in this house.  After standing up, I gingerly walked to the bottom of the steps and with one bare foot, began my ascent.

One by one, I slowly made my way up, feeling the draft on my bare shoulders and arms, instantly dreading the change in temperature with my haphazard choice of flimsy attire.  As I made it to the top, I could sense that the air wasn’t too cold and my eyes began to adjust for the second time that morning to strange darkness around me.

I stood on the top platform and looked around at the familiar items of a typical attic: large pieces of furniture partially covered by white, dusty sheets; various toys; boxes of all sizes; formal wear and jackets draped on tall formed hangers that stood at eye-level.

I walked carefully avoiding anything painful that I could stepp on and bumped my foot anyway on a few small boxes that were knee-level.  They lay against a wide post and a long string connected to a lightbulb a few feet above.  I looked closer and saw that they were family photo albums.

I crouched down to inspect further and picked up one, dirtying up my hands.

It was then that I heard the knocking again. It was intermittent and seemed to echo all around as if traveling a distinct path and then, a new addition of something that sounded like a metal ladder traveling down a set of rails. All of it together sounded like an old, rusty train that didn't work anymore.

_And then footsteps?_

The noise wasn’t in my space. It seemed to be behind the walls somehow because it was muffled and didn’t echo in the room.

_Man, this house is so old that it’s making sounds I’ll probably never again hear in this lifetime._

The thuds stopped several feet from me as I continued to open one of the albums.  I settled in after pulling a dusty box to sit on and lay the cover of the album on my nearly bare lap, with only the thin fabric between my skin and the book.

I opened the cover to reveal the first page.  Staring out from underneath four old-fashioned, black and gold photo tabs was a baby boy, perhaps 2 or 3 years old.  He was a chunky little thing or perhaps appeared so with the proper-looking English attire that he was dressed in.

He was swaddled in a short, thick and pale blue sweater that exposed the little, white collar of his shirt underneath. A tiny bow tie peeked out just underneath his dimpled chin.  His short, grayish, wool pants came down to his chubby knees which were barely showing from the tall, thick, white socks that stretched up, almost covering his skin.

He fat, little hands seemed to be reaching for a stuffed, homemade-looking fabric doll on the grass below him, but the little darling was too puffy to bend down and pick it up.  He looked at the camera in one photo, where he had a chance to hold on to the soft, plush doll.

He was a beautiful, little angel.

My heart soared for him and I felt that connection again that I experienced the night before with the doll and I wanted so much in that moment to give him love.

 _Why did I feel as if he didn’t have it?  Why, if he appeared to have so much in his life_?  _Wasn’t he surrounded with everything at his disposal?_

_Did he have love, the most important resource of all; the thing that surpassed the greatest of fortunes a child could be given? Did someone get a chance to fill him with adoration and affection?_

_Was the doll downstairs some kind of substitute for the little boy not having attention, as if creating it would somehow have abolished the atrocity of a baby not being granted his one, God-given right; to be raised with protection, not even the physical kind, but the kind that sheltered him emotionally and nurtured his instinct to survive the harsh world that he would later encounter as an adult?_

I was frustrated and drained to find that my eyes were wet yet again; I was once more mysteriously brought to tears by this unknown child who may have once lived in this house whose history was unknown to me that included these mysterious grandparents. Oh, there was also a boy’s bedroom where only a doll in his likening now lived.

I sighed and turned the rest of the pages, resolving to finish this painful trip down someone’s memory lane.

** _*_

The next few photographs seemed to capture a party of some sort and a little boy about 8 years old stood with a blank stare in most of them. This was the boy in the painting that I saw in the hallway.  His personality made him appear very shy and quiet which was a sharp contrast to the tall, long-haired, blonde girl that was next to him in almost all the pictures.

She looked a couple of years older than the boy and appeared to be laughing about something.  I sensed that she was a loud, little girl; probably intimidating in person to a child her age, and anyone younger.  Her presence overshadowed the boy’s quiet demeanor.  She looked rather annoying, actually and more than likely did a lot of talking and bossing around.

There wasn’t much to the photo album after those pictures and my neck was starting to cramp from my sitting position.

I placed the book back down and stood up, stretching and yawning.  The knocking sound came once again and this time it traveled the opposite direction from where it had appeared to have come when I first heard it.

I was used to it at this point and decided to make my way back down the attic stairs.  I carefully climbed down, feeling the draft of the hallway rising from underneath my legs.  When I got to the bottom and reacclimated myself to the surroundings, the stairs suddenly gave and immediately sprang back up, closing into the ceiling with a huge bang.

_Well, that’s done._

Whoever had been here earlier and then left would surely have reacted to the noises above the kitchen, which reminded me that I had better go and inspect the situation downstairs in person.

My bare feet and I padded down the thin carpet to the end of hallway where I rounded the corner and reached the top of the wooden stairs.  I peeked all around with each step, holding on to the wide bannister for any signs of activity before safely reaching the bottom landing.  When the coast looked clear, I was at the kitchen and once again surprised with what awaited me.

There, on top of the island, was a large cardboard box filled with what looked like groceries.  I walked closer and peered inside.  There was fresh produce, various breads that included bagels and boxes of sweets with a few pastries in a clear, plastic container, some bags of snack items and lots of bottles of water, still and sparkling.

_Was this for me?_

I couldn’t know for sure. I was inspecting the packages further when I saw a small, folded piece of paper laying on top of one of the flat surfaces.  I opened it to see only one thing handwritten on it: a phone number.

_Oh my._

This must be the portion of the mystery house where I am given some kind of new clue to this adventure.

_Shall I call the number?_

_Is this my chance to finally leave and get back to some semblance reality?_

_Do I really want to?_


	12. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if anyone's reading this, but I would suuuuuuuure appreciate any feedback. I'm scared to death writing the story that is coming alive with each word that I type. Right now, it's a screaming, kicking bouncing baby with a life of its own and I can't write down the stuff in my brain fast enough. This is a totally new experience for me and I would so love to hear what anyone thinks. :)  
> Just be gentle :)

I stood at the counter staring at all the food.  My first supply from yesterday was still there as was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

 _Well, this ought to last me a minute. Maybe I_ won’t _starve right away._

It was definitely time to eat judging from my rumbling stomach.  I decided to fix myself something substantial and opted for a sandwich.

I walked over to one of the drawers, remembering last night’s hunt for something to light candles with.  I had more luck this time and found some silverware, as well as a stack of napkins in a little, wooden holder on the counter.  Satisfied that I’d be able to eat a somewhat civilized meal, I sat down at an old, wooden table near the island and devoured my lunch, washing it down with a large bottle of water.

I owed my instant restoration to my peanut butter and jelly elixir. More proof that the two make anything better, even after an emotional roller coaster ghost hunt in the middle of an English forest.

I rinsed off my plate and knife in the sink and noticed a small hanging fern next to the window.  Another live plant that had obviously been tended to. By whom or what, I had no idea.

 _This house is just full of surprises. Perhaps there’s a plant service that shows up and tends to haunted houses, trying to at least keep_ them _alive._

I laughed openly and smiled at the absurd thought.

And as if on cue, my ghost knocker played his bowling pin song within the perpetual maze inside the wall behind me. The noise traveled along a loud, metal “track” followed by a new sound; a distant clang, like something being pulled down from high above to a landing which echoed when it hit the ground.  After stopping, a small shuffling followed which was now contained to a single spot.

I wasn’t scared.  I was just perplexed and wished that I could know what these sounds were. It definitely gave the house some character.

*******

I went back upstairs to change out of my men’s underwear where yet another “gift” awaited me in “my room”.  There on the bed were all of my clothes neatly folded in stacks.  Not that I had very many, but it sure was nice to see them again.  I didn’t even question how they got there since I had no idea how they disappeared in the first place.  I had an urge to hide everything immediately to keep them from going missing again.

***

Sitting on “my bed” now, I held the unfolded piece of paper with the handwritten phone number and the black, antique phone on my lap trying to figure out what exactly I was _supposed_ to be doing and what I _wanted_ to do.  My choices were vast and few at the same time.

_What have I got to lose?_

I dialed each number slowly, one by one on the old rotary phone knowing that the call must be local, but the foreign phone number still looked strange to me.

I listened to the first ring, then the second and after almost a third, I heard a young, English male voice answer.

“Hello?”

His pleasant British accent was spiced with a little deepness in his voice.  He spoke in a quiet tone that hinted at a nervous determination behind it.

I paused briefly.

“Uh, hello?” was all that I could barely muster out of my mouth.

“Hello?” he began again.

“With whom am I speaking?”

“Uh,” I started.

“Stella?”

There I go again.  Answering questions with questions.  I grimaced.

“Stella, are you at the house?”

“Yes,” I said just above a whisper.

“It’s rather important that I speak with you as there are some things that you need to know about your surroundings; things that I believe you may not have been, _eh_ , made aware of.”

His voice broke as if even he didn’t know how to explain this needed _awareness_.

“May I come over now?”

“Uh, um. Okay.” I offered.

“I can be there in half an hour.  Will you meet me in the garden nearest the entrance to the kitchen?  We can talk in private there.”

_Private? What needs to be kept secret? And from whom?_

“Yes,” I answered.

Then I at last had a lucid thought.

“What’s your name?”

“Malcolm. I’ll see you shortly, Stella.”

***

I rummaged through my newly stacked clothes and grabbed a pair of jeans and a loose sweater along with a pair of socks to go with my tennis shoes.  They, too made a miraculous reappearance on the floor next to the bed.

It felt nice to be wearing normal clothes again.

I wasn’t even thinking about standing there naked during those few seconds that I stripped down.  At this point I felt like I was part of the house and there was a somewhat comfortable familiarity that I now had with it.  I felt safe and protected from what was starting to somehow feel like a threatening outside world.  I didn’t have much of a pleasant send off with Benneit when I first arrived and I sure didn’t want to see him again after the fear that he had set me up to feel.

I had to admit that being here free of charge was an otherwise nice vacation.  Free food, shower and all the comforts that an enormous manor surrounded by a mysterious English forest could possibly provide.  Plus, the guests were quiet and weren’t much of a bother, so I never felt alone!

I stood in front of the tall dresser mirror and surveyed myself.  My hair was somewhat disheveled, which wasn’t a shock.  I could fix that with a little hair product in the bathroom.

***

I made my way back downstairs and exited the kitchen into the pretty English courtyard, seeing its elegance for the first time. I was astonished how lovely the gardens were.  A lovely, wooden trellis lined the sidewalk above me with remnants of trailing foliage that had since died from their deep summer blooms. The rest of the garden seemed to wind around its own uneven, wild path. I didn’t know if the chance would come for me to explore everything on my own later.

Some ways ahead an ornate stone bench appeared where I decided to have a seat.  It wasn’t too far from the house in case my visitor would come from that direction.

 _“Meow_.”

I whipped around to my left and there on the sidewalk sat an orange cat just staring languidly at me.

“Meow,” his long, white whiskers seemed to communicate as they went up and down with every movement of his little mouth.

After he caught my attention, he got up and started walking closer, his tail curled and lazily bobbing around.  When he got near me he immediately snaked his way through my legs and began to purr loudly.  I instinctively reached down to pet its back.

“Well now, where did you come from, little man?” I inquired, pretending with a smile that he would answer back.

His response was to hop up on the bench and onto my lap, making himself perfectly comfortable while he waited for me to start petting him again.

I laughed and stroked his soft, orange fur.

“Well, it looks like you and I are friends now. I don’t know how lonely these parts can be, but it sure is nice to have someone like you nearby.

“What’s your name?”

I heard shuffled footsteps on my right then and turned to see a man in his 30s walking towards me.  He had an about average build and was wearing a dark gray unzippered jacket over a thin, light gray V-neck sweater and white t-shirt underneath. He was dressed casually in jeans and plain, blue sneakers and wore a quiet smile on his rather attractive face.

“Stella?” he asked in his gorgeous English accent.

“Yes. Malcolm?”

“Hello, Stella.  It’s very nice to meet you under such strange circumstances.  Thank you for agreeing to talk with me.”

He stared then at the cat next to me and opted to sit down on my right, sandwiching me in the middle of my two new acquaintances.

“Of course,” I replied, not exactly knowing what to say next.

“Look,” he started.

“I just want to be straight with you and not add to the confusion that you’re no doubt already experiencing.”

He gave a long sigh before continuing.

“There is a man by the name of Benneit, whom I’m sure you’ve been acquainted with already. He’s a very bad man, Stella.”

Malcolm scratched his head, letting his hand slip down to the back of his neck, where it remained as he continued.

“Benneit has been trying to lure young women like _yourself_ into coming here under the guise of this mansion being haunted.”

He paused a bit and his voice was deeper when he emphasized my own presence.

“You’re about the third girl that’s come through here though not one stuck around long enough to discover the truth.”

“What truth?” I asked, my heart racing at the thought of there being even more to this uncomfortable scenario.

He looked down then and sighed again before continuing.

“Let me just fill you in on _why_ there is a draw for young women, especially young, _pretty_ women to come to the mansion.”

I was a little surprised at the hint of a compliment to me.

“As you may know, there was a young boy who once lived here over 20 years ago and on his 8th birthday, he was involved in a tragic accident.  He was burned alive in the attic of this very house.  No one had ever found his body, but his parents were so devastated that the only way that they could deal with the loss of their only child was to fashion a porcelain doll after his liking.”

The blood drained from my head and my mouth fell open.

My boy doll.  My boy doll was a recreation of an actual boy who had died here.

_Was the old couple his parents? How could they be that old and have such a young boy? What did Malcolm mean that the boy’s body was never found?_

_How did they know that he actually died?_

As if on cue, Malcolm continued.

“About a year or so ago, the parents put out an advertisement for a young nanny to come and take care of _the doll.”_

His voice dropped at the last two words and he cocked his head at me with a slightly sardonic look on his face, before continuing.

“A young girl named Greta came from the US and took on the job of being the doll’s nanny.  Soon after, the parents went on holiday and, well, they never returned.  Their bodies were recently found in a nearby lake, along with a suicide note, explaining their reasons.”

He stared at me then, his blue eyes sparkling as this was clearly the first opportunity that he’s had to ever tell a soul what he was sharing with me.

“Stella, there is no ghost here.  The young boy who everyone thought had died actually _lived_.  He survived somehow inside some secret passages inside the walls of this house and he’s still very much alive now.”

There was a long pause between each sentence which was good because I was still back at the boy doll being an actual boy who had died.  My brain fought to calculate the years ahead that this boy was now and I was trying to comprehend that he was now a man. A man somewhat in his 30s was living in this house but not among the living.  He was living in the _walls_ of the house.  Alone.

“What about the parents?  Did they know that he was alive? How did he survive after all of these years?”

Malcolm seemed a little relieved that I was starting to digest this bombshell.

“Yes. They did know, Stella. They just chose not to acknowledge him directly as he got older, with the only communication being through the doll.  Their son created a list of rules for his parents to follow, I suppose to give himself some semblance of his existence. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to have no verbal or physical communication with his own parents.  I mean, I really can’t.  It’s heart-breaking.”

His voice trailed off and his eyes had a glaze to them.

“Stella, there’s something else.  A little girl was murdered on the boy’s 8th birthday.  Everyone assumed that because he was always quiet and shy, coupled with the fact that he was left alone with the girl, that he committed it. There was no actual proof, but you see, the parents, being the wealthy aristocrats that they were, took it upon themselves to cover up the supposed murder that everyone believed was the boy’s doing.

“They locked him in the attic and set him on fire.  His _parents_. His _own parents_.  That is why, after he actually survived the tragedy, he needed to remain in the house.  The truth of his existence couldn’t be known, even after their plan to dispose of the evidence of their child and his crime was foiled.”

“What’s his name? The boy?”

Malcolm stared at me then.  There was sadness on his face that wasn’t there when we had first encountered each other, as if he was speaking of an old friend who had died and he was remembering him for the first time in a long time. Somehow, I felt like we, too were old friends with a shared secret that was deep enough to somehow bond us together.

“Brahms.  His name is Brahms, Stella.”

My eyes widened at the uniqueness of my ghost but not ghost’s name.  Brahms. _Brahms_ …

“As I said, he’s very much alive and only you and I and Greta know this.  Now that the parents are gone, keeping the truth behind this tragedy is a very fragile secret.  It needs to remain only between us.”

“What happened to Greta? Why isn’t she here?”

Malcolm took a breath and paused before answering.

“Greta had an ex-boyfriend back in the States who was very abusive to her.  He was the reason why she came to England.  The boyfriend found out where she was and came to force her to come back home.  When he arrived, he became belligerent after finding out that Greta was taking care of a doll and she seemed so fond of it.  He grabbed the doll from her and smashed its porcelain head which completely destroyed it.  There was nothing left of it after that.

_Well, yes, there is._

“That’s when the real Brahms came out of hiding from the walls.  He immediately attacked Greta’s ex-boyfriend seeing him as the final threat to what Brahms believed was the destruction of his own identity and livelihood.

“Stella, the boyfriend didn’t survive, so in essence, Brahms is a murderer.  Whether or not he killed the little girl as a young boy isn’t at question here.  But you have to understand the completely devastating set of circumstances here. Brahms is not some crazed killer who murders senselessly.  He is a tragedy, a truly heartbreaking tragedy in a perverse drama that has unfolded more catastrophically with each passing year that he has had to endure.

“I’m not going to sit here and say that what he did to a human life is justified, but I will also not hold a belief that what was done to him by his parents wasn’t child abuse.  If his case ever went to trial and he was imprisoned, I don’t know how that wouldn’t be a punishment worse than death.  He has died many times over in the more than 20 years he’s been alone in this place.  I for one will not let him continue to die.”

“Were you there that night? Did you see him when he appeared for the first time then?” I asked.

“Yes. We all saw Brahms.  Greta and her ex-boyfriend and I.”

He sighed again and continued with the rest of his story.

“I suppose because I was trying to protect Greta from the violence, Brahms thought that I was a threat to her and the only way that he knew how to protect her was by ridding her of the danger that he believed was in the form of the only two other men around.  He attempted to carry her off by dragging her to whatever place in the house he actually lived and after I tried to save her from him, he attacked me.

“All he wanted was for Greta to stay with him. And that never happened.  She later tried to trick him so that she could attack him and it worked.  He ended up with a screwdriver in his belly and that was when Greta ran off.

“I started coming here just to see any signs of life from Brahms or of any outside activity in general. No one has ventured anywhere near the house and I don’t think that anyone ever will.  People believe that it’s cursed, but I know that the only curse that exists is the one that Brahms’s parents left him with.

“I began bringing groceries here from my store, just as I had done when Greta was here.  I came back after the first attempt at delivering them to see if the supplies were still here and saw that someone had taken them.  Brahms must be alive or else he wouldn’t have the strength to move about and take care of himself on his own like that and I doubt anyone is here with him.

“I have no idea how he lives in those walls or _where_ , but I’ve been coming here ever since to try and help keep him alive the only way that I can.  I make sure that the house is habitable and its conditions safe. Given that no one _legally_ lives here, the town has turned off all utilities, which I’m guessing you have learned the hard way.

_That would explain the candles everywhere that he supplied._

“Again, I have yet to see him or speak to him, so I’m just going on faith that he’s still here.”

 _And that is exactly all that any of us have here. Faith in a ghost has turned into a faith that an unseen person is here, in essence, a ghost in another form. And now faith exists between two people who have never met who each rely on the other to_ stay alive _and to_ want to _be alive._

“I don’t know how he survived, Stella, but he is a survivor.  I guess that’s what makes him a warrior, having lived through such tragic circumstances with only his body intact.  What remains of his spirit and emotional state, I can’t imagine.

“I feel like this is what I’m supposed to do; to protect him.  He needs an advocate in his life and quite literally, someone to speak the truth for him as he can’t speak for himself. He hasn’t got _anyone_.

“I’m asking you now to give him a chance by at least not spreading this information to the public.  I understand if you want to leave and you can, at your own will.  But if you stay, you’re in it for the long haul because Brahms is on his own right now.”

“What about Benneit?” I asked.

“What will become of him and his deceitfulness?”

Malcolm scowled.

“Don’t you worry about him.  I’ll take care of him and make sure that no one else becomes involved in this mess. I’m more concerned at this point for Brahms’s fragile welfare than anyone else’s, to be honest. Consider Benneit out of the picture.

“You and I are the only friends that Brahms may ever have.”

I looked over at the orange cat that was sleeping on his side still on the bench.

“And Marmalade,” I smiled.

Malcolm turned to the cat behind him.

“I don’t know about that.  Brahms is not one for animals. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to keep this one around.”

_We’ll see about that, right Marmalade?_

I stared at Malcolm then and only knew one thing to do in that awkward moment.  I grabbed him and threw my arms around his neck, giving him a breathless squeeze.

I pulled away and grasped both of his wrists with my hands and stared him right in the face.

I’m not afraid,” I said.

“I’m in.”


	13. Storm

* * *

My initial shock and fear was lifted the more time that I spent talking with Malcolm.  He made me feel that _our_ situation was not as overwhelming if we shared it together. Deep inside there was a part of me that was scared to death to go back into this enormous, dark mansion knowing that a strange man was living _in the walls_ of it.

A cool, calming breeze swept past me, brushing softly against my cheeks and gently blowing my hair from my face. My eyes closed briefly from the sudden wind and when I opened them, I had to squint to make out the graying sky and landscape before me.  I was standing on the very top most level of the mansion’s only accessible platform balcony. I had a 360-degree view of the world around me, of the forest tree tops and the changing sky when I turned around.

I felt free up here and safe, which is just how it was anytime that I was outside, especially when the commotion of a man-made world was gone.

Being this close to the atmosphere and looking at the grayish stream of washed out clouds helped me gain a better perspective of this incredible new world that I had found myself in, both inside and out of the mansion walls.

_Imagine how Brahms must feel, being encased his whole life inside a world that no one else has ever seen or known of.  His perspective has been sadly reduced to just a one-sided experience with nothing else to compare it to._

_Does he know the outside world?_

I remembered seeing a library room with books lining every space of the walls.

_Did he venture out there to at least escape with his mind? Had his parents let him have any type of luxuries?_

_Was this why his rules were created, so that he had access to the things that he was robbed of?_

The Rules.

I had just now remembered them sitting in the doll’s room on the clipboard.

_Had there been any response to my questions written on the backside of the rules?  Now that a ghost doesn’t exist, would the real Brahms have wanted to communicate with me?_

I felt badly for treating the attempt at communication so hastily, assuming that there wasn’t a ghost, but instead a stupid trick a la Benneit.

God, poor Brahms.  His only form of communication with people, his one attempt at a _government_ in this insane house, no matter how bizarre and I treated it like a childish game.  And he was a child, or at least must certainly had the impression of one inside his grownup persona; if he even had that.

 _What is he like?  What does he_ look _like?_

If he could grow up to look even remotely like his boyish self and those features, he has to be beautiful.

_Do his eyes have sadness still? Is his skin just as pure and soft as in the pictures, having never seen the light of day?  How badly was he burned? To what extent had the fire damaged him, emotionally and physically?_

Somehow, I couldn’t imagine the worst.  My heart ached knowing that I would be the only contact that he has had with anyone since his parents were here. And that never fared well. And the man that he murdered and Malcolm that he tried to murder and Greta that he wanted to perhaps be his very own doll forever… his relationships weren’t very tip top.

God, he has no idea what humanity is about.

_Then again, did his own family?_

Brahms may be the only one in this house with humanity in his heart and he’s never had a chance to experience it. The irony was not lost.

I couldn’t wait to get inside.

***

But first, dinner.  I stood in the kitchen looking again at my wide range of choices for a meal.

I snickered out loud.

Well, at least it’s _healthy,_ thinking of my initial supply brought to the house. The groceries that Malcolm delivered for Brahms (not me, after all) were not so healthy.  I imagine that without electricity, his poor diet must be awful having to only eat from bags and boxes.  Although the sweets must have been nice.

“You know, you can share the junk food with me,” I exclaimed out loud, surprising myself and immediately feeling a building of nervous tension in my chest.

“We can even exchange some things with each other…if you want to.”

_Oh GOD.  Oh no, that’s not what I meant.  Shit. Now he’s going to think that I’m a pervert!_

Oh well. Too late now.

I let out a slow breath to try and let the moment pass.

I peered at the kitchen walls around me, wondering if he could see or if he was even there.  Nothing but silence.

Right, then.  Back to my fruit and granola bars again. At least he could’ve left me a damn bagel or something. I was making a scowling face then to myself wishing that I could be enjoying cold, refrigerated cream cheese and a fresh, hot, toasted bagel when my thoughts were interrupted by a meow outside the kitchen door.

Again.

“Meow.”

I opened the door and there stood dear Marmalade, pleased to be asked in, though I didn’t _exactly_ invite him…

***

It was getting darker in the kitchen and I forgot to bring anything to light candles with from upstairs. As if to add to the atmosphere, I heard a loud rumbling outside signaling a storm coming.  I looked down at Marmalade and made the decision for us both to venture upstairs before we’d be stumbling in the dark.

We climbed the stairs together then and made our way towards little Brahms’s room.  He had a name now and wasn’t just a boy doll living in an empty room.  Though I knew now that he wasn’t haunted, but he still did embody the spirit of the boy that lived inside the walls of this house and I would love him anyway because someone had to.

_I loved him._

_Where did that come from suddenly?_

I stood at the threshold of the bedroom looking to see what, if anything had changed since I was there the day before.  Still sitting upright was the doll and next to him, the clipboard.

I walked first to the nightstand and pulled out a large portion of the matches from the drawer.

The irony now hit me that the doll had matches in his room.  Of all the places in the entire mansion, as far as I knew, they were hidden in a child’s room; the fire from which nearly killed the real Brahms over 20 years ago and he keeps them here.

I settled onto the bed with my lit candle to read my responses.

 

**QUESTIONS**

 

  1. Is this a game?



_Do you want to play a game?_

  1. Are you a ghost?



_NO._

  1. Are you the good kind?



_I am the human kind._

  1. What is your name?



_Brahms Heelshire._

  1. Why are you here?



_Why are_ you _here?_

  1. Where can I find you?



_I am everywhere._

  1. Am I able to see you now?



_Only if you want to._

  1. Why was I brought here?



_I don’t know, Stella.  Why were you brought here?_

  1. When can I leave?



_You may leave whenever you wish._

  1. Do you want me to go?



_Do you?_

 

Oh GOD. Oh my god. I was positively blushing and fiercely so.  My heart was racing and I was actually starting to sweat. I felt like a schoolgirl whose crush was flirting with her.  I wasn’t expecting this _at all._

_Not at all._

I lay down the clipboard then and sat on the bed not being able to move.  Around me, the house was starting to shake from the vibrations of the storm that was drawing closer.  I began to hear heavy drops of rain beating on the bedroom window.

I turned to the boy doll, little Brahms, … _Brahmsy_? The affectionate endearment just rolled out from my mind, just as natural as ever.

I picked him up and placed him on my lap once more.  Just twenty-four hours ago, he sat like this when I felt my strange connection to him.  Was it still there?  Had it now manifested into adult Brahms?  Had baby Brahms grown up now leaving the doll as just a broken, porcelain shell?

A huge crack of lightning made me jump about five feet off the bed and I almost dropped the doll.  Rain was coming down so loudly, it was actually hard to hear myself think.

I blew out the candle, grabbed my stash of matches and the doll and ran/walked to my bedroom.

Once there, I lit every single candle in the room.  I hesitated before changing into my men’s pajamas/underwear, where I felt the most comfortable with it being the least amount of clothes that I could get away with. I didn’t dare roam the house naked, as I am naturally inclined to do in my own private world.

_Not here._

And then, my embarrassment turned to excitement and something came over me that I could not rationally explain.

Slowly, very slowly, I unbuttoned my jeans and let my hands rest on my hips with my fingers hooked into the belt loops for just a moment before pushing them down my thighs.  I bent over to take them off the rest of the way, lifting one bent leg up and flashing the inner thigh of my standing leg. I pulled the jeans off one leg first, then started the same strip tease with the other.

The fact that I wasn’t wearing underwear, even men’s, was not lost to me as I realized that if I was not alone, I was seriously giving someone a really good show.

I threw my crumpled jeans on the floor and moved to my sweater now.

I crossed my arms over the thin fabric and pulled it off slowly. I hurled it across the room, too.

Another clap of lightning and loud roll of thunder and I unhooked my bra, flinging it off and yanked up my men’s underwear/pajamas before bolting like lightning myself to the bed. I was under the covers in a flash, little Brahmsy in my arms resting against my tank top and tucked underneath the giant, white blanket with me.

I felt a light depression on the bed just then and lifted my head to see Marmalade walking as happy as he pleased towards us.

“Well come on, man.  Hurry up here!”

There we three lay, each with our own individual presence of mind.  I, feeling a churning of raw, excited emotions wondering if Brahms was watching; little Brahmsy safe in my arms, an inanimate toy, that, like a child, I felt free to love without condition (because everyone and everything deserves that) and furry Marmalade, whose only concern right now was cleaning his behind with his leg sticking straight up in the air.

All of this as the gods in the rainy sky made their preternatural procession of sharp light against darkness forming the one thing that this house did not have but which I was _surely_ feeling that moment: _electricity._

The pattern of rain eventually slowed from a loud drumming to an unhurried and steady drum that became the lullaby to send me off to sleep.


	14. Mask

* * *

I awoke to a pale, subdued light in the bedroom with little Brahms next to me, my arm laying across him.  I raised my head a little to search for Marmalade. He was in the middle of his morning bath with his other leg now sticking straight up as he carried on with his business.

I stretched out my body underneath the heavy weight of the blanket and lay for a few moments pondering the previous afternoon’s discoveries.

_Did Brahms hear my conversation with Malcolm? How did he feel about his silent friend bringing him supplies and making sure that his surroundings were safe? What had he thought about the other two “nannies” who didn’t know what they had gotten themselves into after Benneit’s stupid attempt to lure them here and try and scare them? What kind of person would intentionally jeopardize the well-being of another?_

_What kind of people would try and burn their own son to a slow and malicious death?_

This town held many secrets, not the good kind. It was time to investigate what I could in this house without overwhelming myself or Brahms.

_How would we finally come to meet? Does he want to find me? Am I invading his space or am I a welcome to his lonely world?_

This _is_ his home and I am an intruder. Perhaps I should start with a clean slate and actually try and respect his privacy as well as his space.

I wanted then to bring him out of hiding and see him. I remembered with excitement the notes that we left each other; how enticing his words made him sound. He seemed enigmatic and completely alluring.

And intelligent. That alone made him ravishing to me.

I was impatient for our encounter to happen and the anticipation of when and how only thrilled me more.

***

I sat up and pulled myself out of bed.  My glance to the floor made it obvious that I’d be stuck in my men’s attire again since last night’s clothes had _somehow_ disappeared.

 _Sigh_.

Now I knew that these playful escapades were not to be blamed on a friendly ghost.  The thought of the very real and very tempting presence with the completely intriguing personality made me feel as if we were already connected without ever having a formal encounter.

_Would our eventual meeting be just as clandestine?_

***

My physical hunger in the meantime could at least be relieved a lot sooner.  I left little Brahmsy in the cloud of sheets and blankets, letting him sleep in this morning.  He could now take a break from needing a nanny and could just enjoy time as a sweet, little boy doll sitting on a bed. Well, in his case, swallowed whole in it.

Marmalade hopped off and followed me downstairs to the kitchen. 

***

The food on the counter was neatly arranged now with some items missing from my stash.  But there, in the middle of the counter was a single bagel on a white napkin.

_For me? From Brahms?_

I beamed, feeling self-conscious at the sweet gesture, realizing that Brahms must have heard my plea yesterday for just one bagel to myself. I felt suddenly exposed in my flimsy men’s undergarments.

I picked up the bagel and thanked him out loud, savoring it down to the last crumbled bite.  Even without cream cheese, it was divine. There were still enough bananas left so I ate one of those as well and enjoyed an apple juice.

“Maybe next time, we can share this together,” I offered out loud with a grin on my face.

I went upstairs to shower then.

***

I was standing in my robe, damp from my shower. I decided to do something that completely shocked me, untying it and letting it fall completely off me onto bathroom floor.

_If he insists on me not having clothes, then I’ll let him suffer through my humiliation._

Well, I’m not entirely humiliated.

_And is he suffering from it?_

I let myself blush then.

I went into the Heelshire’s bedroom and rummaged through Mr. Heelshire’s drawers once again, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers with a delightful looking tartan pattern, along with a tank top, this time black. I felt a sense of pride at my rather fashionable attempt to make the most out of my slim choices of garments.

I felt like going outside but knew that there was no way that would happen now.  I went back into the closet and looked for something that I could put over my clothes.

Ah, a cardigan. Perfect. And long enough to modestly hang down to my knees.

Now, shoes.

I looked down at my feet.

“Any suggestions?”

I wasn’t making it obvious that I was speaking to Brahms directly and the one that I was addressing indirectly still could have been my ghost.  I didn’t think that it was my place to declare that I knew more about the person and his situation than he may be willing to disclose. As exposed as I felt, it was unfair to expose Brahms’s soul like that without him making the choice to himself, if at all.

***

I had a thought that perhaps Mrs. Heelshire may at least have shoes that would fit me without them being formal. I scoured her plethora of pump shoes, ranging in a staggering few neutral colors.

_God, what in the hell am I complaining about?_

These poor souls will never get to make choices ever again. They will never get the chance to make _good_ choices, either.

And there, at the end of the shoe line, stood a tall pair of black boots.

_Riding boots?_

Now I’ll really be riding in style.

***

Back in the kitchen, Marmalade was waiting at the door in perfect timing for my own venture outdoors.

After walking some ways, I reached halfway around the circled sidewalk where the garden thinned out to form a path towards the woods.

I walked along a grassy trail before coming to a grave’s headstone.

 

**_BRAHMS_ **

_1983 – 1991_

_…he shall not perish,_

_but have everlasting life._

What an atrocious sentiment.  Here was the final evidence of the death that couldn’t happen more times over; a constant visual reminder of the hideous acts of violence towards a child and now, a man trapped in a lifeless existence.

I stood there for some time, wondering what the parents could have buried in that grave, if there was one at all.  All that was buried were secrets, abuse, lies, deception and a chance of someone growing up.  Brahms’s humanity revealed itself in those moments.

_A warrior.  He was truly a warrior._

I turned then and walked the rest of the way back to the house, my loyal Marmalade at my side.

***

Once inside, I kicked off my boots and padded barefoot around the first floor, finally able to explore it in the daylight.

I walked into what looked to be the library and music room. There was a gramophone on a small, wooden table and dozens of records leaning on bookshelves behind it. They were beautifully encased inside glass cabinets along with several hundred books, artfully arranged with simple antiquity and covering every corner of the room’s walls.

The gramophone had a record already on for “ _Haydn’s “Symphony No. 102/Largo Vivace.”_

 _I could most definitely get used to this,_ I smiled.

Perusing the rest of the music along the walls, I found titles of all my favorite composers’ musical performances, every last one.  The records were ancient, maybe original issues. I handled each delicately, taking care not to touch the shiny surface of any of them.

I got lost in that room and in myself, listening to one record, then another.

I was lying on my back on a soft, green velvet couch, my legs crossed in front of me, my over-sized cardigan having slipped up to the hem of my boxer shorts. I kicked a knee up in the air, and my bare foot danced to the livelier parts of music. I was air conducting with my arms like a fool.

There were times that I probably heard Brahms in the walls, but it was hard to tell with the loudness of the music all around me.

I seemed to remember one of The Rules being that music is played loud.

Well, I ain’t breaking _that_ rule.

Stopping after some time, I got off the couch and stretched, deciding that it was time for lunch.

I walked back into the kitchen when an alarming sight made my eyebrows lift and my eyes widen.

There, on the counter, was a single white plate with _crumbs_ on it and a _used_ knife next to it.

_Oh my god.  Was Brahms here?!_

_I don’t believe a critter of some sort left the crumbs after making a sandwich._

My mouth opened in disbelief at the sign of someone having _eaten._ This wasn’t just a piece of food being left.  This was evidence that food was _consumed_.

And ghosts certainly can’t eat.

_Does Brahms know how brash his playfulness has gotten? Does he want me to know something? Do I want to let him in on my secret, too?_

***

I walked back upstairs after my lunch and washing Brahms’s plate. I felt an incredible intimacy handling his plate and silverware and touching the crumbs of food that _he_ touched knowing that it was now in his body.

It turned me on in a really weird way. But I didn’t question it. I promised myself to just let whatever happen _happen_.

And with that, I decided to take a nap.

I walked past little Brahmsy’s room and took another look at The Rules.

 

  1. _No Guests_
  2. _Never Leave Brahms Alone_
  3. _Save Meals in Freezer_
  4. _Never Cover Brahms Face_
  5. _Read a Bedtime Story_
  6. _Play Music Loud_
  7. _Clean the Traps_
  8. _Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries_
  9. _Brahms is Never to Leave_
  10. _Kiss Goodnight_



 

Well, I guess that I broke the first rule when I made Marmalade a permanent guest.

As for Brahmsy’s well-being, it’s safe to say he’s not completely alone. I mean, the boy does need some Brahms Time.

Well, we have no electricity for a freezer and between Malcolm and Brahms, they are doing the best that they can in the meals department.

Hmm. _Does covering Brahms’s face after he was snuggled up comfortably in a bed shared with a cat and someone who lovingly tried to keep all three of them safe during a scary thunder and lightning storm count?_

 _Bedtime story_.  Well, the past two nights could have counted as their own special stories without one needing to be read.

 _Play music loud._ Check check check.  _Extra credit?_

I don’t want to know what other traps there are.

Well, as for deliveries, it’s safe to say that we _only_ want Malcolm to bring them or anything else for that matter.

Hmm again.  _Which Brahms shouldn’t leave?_

Kiss goodnight. Mmm.  _Who shall do it first? And when?_

***

I didn’t know at that point if I should write down my thought responses. Maybe a nap will help me decide.

“C’mon Marmalade.”

I slipped my cardigan off while walking to the bed.  I climbed into the fluffy covers that I didn’t even bother to make up that morning.

_Ah well. All the more softness to enjoy._

I turned to little Brahmsy and spoke to him directly.

“Now, I know that you’ve been a lazy, little thing today and that’s ok.  We’re all going to take a nap now and when we wake up, we’ll be a little more productive.”

I nodded then and decided nervously to continue my soliloquy.

“Also, perhaps a séance is in order. I should very much like to make the acquaintance of the ghost of this house.”

I threw myself under the covers, blushing with excitement and feeling like a child forced to sleep on Christmas Eve before awakening to her presents.

***

I woke up with electricity in my heart as it started to pound in my chest.

The bedroom was dark except for a large, white candle sitting on the dresser. Excitedly, I walked over to it, knowing exactly who placed it there. Next to it was a small piece of paper in the same attractive handwriting that the rules responses were written in.

_“Serenade No. 1.”_

I smiled and walked/ran but not too obviously downstairs to the music room with my single candle.

***

I turned into the entrance of the music room and saw a few candles on the table with the gramophone.

I walked slowly over to it realizing then that I had regrettably forgotten my cardigan upstairs. I felt all the more exposed again, even in the candlelight.  After my strip tease last night, I was now eating my words and suddenly felt stark naked in my thin garments.

There, ready to play on the turntable was the piece of music by the same namesake who authored the note.

_Brahms._

Next to it, another handwritten note.

_Loud._

_Front room._

***

_Does he want to meet in the other room? Why?_

I started the music and stood waiting for the pop of the needle to sound through the speaker. The music soon followed.

I looked carefully around the room and made my way to the front room next door.

I was astonished to see it completely lit up with candles.  I was reminded of the night that I first discovered the room and saw them all spent.

No clues this time.  I sat down warily on the large, comfortable couch.  It practically swallowed me and I couldn’t help but sink into it.  My bare feet dangled over the floor and my palms began to sweat on the fabric under my skin.

I lay back and tried to relax with the loud music next door as my heart pounded through my chest. I looked slowly around the room without turning my head too much. I let my shoulders drop a little and waited.

***

I heard distant knocking behind the walls.  It may have been close, but with the music, I couldn’t tell where the sounds were coming from. Then loud banging that was closer now and in the room. A few more knocks and then nothing.

***

I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight and I was completely covered in goosebumps when behind me, I could feel that the air had changed, muffling the loud music around me. A presence was there, not moving and I, too was frozen, willing myself not to move.

And then, I felt a single, slow inhale of breath on the side of my neck, just below my ear. A very measured exhale slowly followed, long and warm, waking every nerve in my body.

I sat shuddering, in utter disbelief that there was a person here and more importantly that it was Brahms.

I _hoped_ it was Brahms.

The music was once again loud and the presence had moved. I listened to hear where the sound reverberated next when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A very tall shadow slowly stepped from the side and stood silently above me.

If my heart would pop out of my chest then, I would never see what happened next.

An arm was extended to me reaching for my hand which was now molded to the couch.  I felt cool fingers touch the top of my hand, then gently slide underneath it, grasping and pulling me up, ever so slowly. It was as if he was waiting for me to respond to his movement without controlling any action; if I could ever bring myself to make one.

I didn’t look up when I let myself follow his movement, allowing me to stand up.  He took a few steps back so there was space between us, but he didn’t let go of my hand that was now in his very tall grasp.

I stared then at the only thing that was directly in front me.  From what I could see in the candlelight, he was wearing a stained tank top that exposed the short, dark hair of his chest.  A pair of suspenders peeked behind a thick cardigan that after adjusting to the low light, I could now see was a dark, greenish color, very similar to the one that I wore earlier.

_Half of the clothes that we were wearing was the same._

I moved my eyes lower on his body and saw very loose, dark trousers that stopped a few inches above his exposed ankles and bare feet. Seeing this last vulnerable part of his body created excitement in my groin I could not explain.

I smelled something familiar then as we stood so close to each other.  It was the same scent from when I first entered the house.

_Musk._

It was strong now and I attempted to inhale deeply, but very quietly.  There was a trace of a very faded men’s cologne.  It wasn’t strong and mixed perfectly with the musk smell. It was then that I raised up my head.

I had to see the rest of him.

I expected to see a face, but was stunned when instead I saw a shiny, whitish surface covering it instead.  A mask was hiding his features, leaving only a short beard along his jawline.

What offset his alarming appearance was the mess of curly, black hair on his head that was wild and unruly.  Springs of boyish curls hung delicately over the top of his masked forehead and ears.

I was mesmerized by the innocence of his childish, unkept hair. And yet, I was taunted now that I could fully sense the magnitude of his entire, rather strong body. He must’ve been over 6 feet tall.

He remained quiet and only the music played around us, the volume lowering a bit as a softer piece could now be heard.

I stood there staring at the face that I couldn’t see.  From behind two small holes in the mask his eyes were wide open, both shining in the low light.

“Are you a ghost?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He slowly shook his head no.

“I…I’m Stella.  Are you _Brahms_?”

This time a thoughtful nod yes.

“Are you mad that I’m here? Do you want me to leave?”

I didn’t realize the question would come until I felt the magnitude of being here with a person who lived the house with me.

 _His_ house.

He didn’t pause then either when he answered shaking his again, this time with more conviction, his eyes alertly focused and locked on mine as he said it.

His eyes told something more.  They were glistening and were staring very intently into mine.  He took in as much as he could with his limited senses as his eyes roamed everywhere around my face.  The emotion in them touched me so deeply; it was as if I could _feel_ him.

His intense stare was sweet and sad at the same time and I felt touched by the tenderness. It was an incredibly intimate moment and the connection that I felt upstairs with little Brahms was now suddenly coming at a much deeper level.

Suddenly, I was able to comprehend the reality of his circumstance.  He _lived_ here. He wasn’t some strange guest who could leave anytime and return to a familiar outside world.  He could never escape with this being the only world that he has ever known.

I focused on his mask and understood its significance, its similarity to the porcelain boy doll upstairs.  Here was the live version of the inanimate object that had made its bittersweet way into my heart, connecting me to his quiet existence.

My eyes began to burn and a lump formed in my throat.  I felt tears forming and a sadness come over me.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

My voice quivered as I now grasped his situation fully.

His cocked his head to the side then and slowly reached for my other sweaty hand, placing it inside his gentle grasp.  He was now holding them both and his cool fingers were a relief to my increasing body heat.  His touch both calmed me and excited me.

He gently squeezed my hands before releasing one and turning to face the wall on our right.  He pulled me slowly as we walked towards the fireplace, stopping then at a wall next to it. It was the same depth as the fireplace and when he leaned down to grasp a handle on the wall, my eyes got big.

He looked at me then before pulling open a hidden door that was about four feet high and made his way into it.

I just stood there.

_Did he want me to follow? Was he showing me something? Was he leaving me now to return to his secret hiding place?_

With him a few seconds gone, I rushed and went through the threshold, knowing then that I didn’t want to leave his side. I wanted nothing more than to stay with him and find out more of his secrets.

***

Once inside I was able to stand up fully but I couldn’t see anything.  I felt a hand on mine and a pull as I was slowly led down a dark hallway.  Streams of light came through the walls of the tunnel, sometimes on both sides and as we walked further, the light would stop or only come through from one side.

It took several minutes of maneuvering around tight corners and even as my eyes adjusted to the low light, I had no idea where we were going or what was just a few feet in front of us. He never once let go of my hand and made sure that I was close behind him.

***

We stopped after some time as we came to a brick wall.  There was a metal ladder attached to it that led up.  I lifted my head to see how high it went but couldn’t see far enough.

He turned around then and placed his hand on my waist, directing me to the ladder.  I stood there looking at it, then at him.  I felt his calm demeanor and I knew that he knew that I was scared. He was trying not to scare me more.  Feeling safe, I began to climb.

When we both arrived at the top, we were met with more walls and a short tunnel.  Bright light was streaming through both sides and at the end an even brighter light on the left.

It was what was on the walls that caught my attention.  Pieces of paper were stuck everywhere, each with short, handwritten words.

Each of the rules from the doll’s bedroom were on the paper leading to another entrance where the tunnel ended.

I felt a hand on my back and was slowly guided through another hidden door.  On the other side was a room, the first bright light that I had seen since we came into the walls, though it was only coming from a few small lamps.

This looked like a bedroom; a very large bedroom with a stove and a short refrigerator and a microwave on top. I looked around and saw a short set of wooden stairs leading up to another level. Underneath were bookcases that looked homemade and lined with books.  Various paintings and color photographs were pinned on a corkboard on a wall.  A few small potted plants, very much alive, lined the walls and several more could be seen on the top landing of the stairs.

Everything was a mish mash of new and old, the modern appliances offset the rest of the dated room

I looked then at the person next to me.  He was staring intently at me, as if to see my reaction.

I only knew of one thing that I wanted to do.  It was so out of character of what I would have expected to do but I could not control myself.

I turned and looked up so that I was staring into the eyes behind the mask and reached for his hands, taking them into mine.

I stood looking at him, trying to gauge the feeling in those eyes; those _beautiful_ eyes.

***

“Why did you bring me here, Brahms?”

His eyes wandered around my face, looking me over slowly and intensely as he quietly thought.

He paused, then leaned down to my ear and whispered in the sexiest voice that I had ever heard.

It was neither very deep nor very high.  It was quietly innocent and yet had a sureness to it. The English accent gave it even more of an array of mystery.

“Because,” he breathed softly, enunciating that single word.

“I trust you, Stella.”

Every inch of me shuddered from the impact of hearing his voice for the very first time; feeling his warm breath on my skin made my knees buckle.

He placed his long, slender fingers then on my upper arms before pulling me into him.  I placed my head on his warm chest, my cheek barely touching the exposed skin above his top. He wrapped his arms completely around me then and held me close to him.  I felt his short breaths on my hair. His heart was pounding furiously in my ear. The warmth between his chest and mine created heat for us both that we could now feel together.

I squeezed him as gently and at the same time as hard as I could.

This was the single most intimate feeling that I had ever experienced in my life. I have felt many hugs; some for comfort, some friendly and some romantic.

This experience was all three. It was full of love and it was as if I was hugging the closest friend that I had in the entire world.

I looked up then, craning my neck at the mysterious creature holding me.

_How many hugs had he been given or had been able to give? Were any of them from his parents? Before his injury, did he have friends?_

_Had he ever been able to run into someone’s arms out of happiness or to be comforted? Has he ever felt someone embrace him completely, feeling affection and joy?_

My hands wandered slowly up his chest past his top and stopped at his beard. 

***

I wasn’t guided by any rational thought but was reacting purely out of emotion.

I wanted this more than anything. The wall of the mask had to go. I needed to feel more. I needed to connect.  I needed to know the real Brahms.

My fingertips were touching the bottom of his mask and I craved the chance to touch beyond it, moving up to feel every single inch of those soft curls.

I locked my eyes into his as I slowly traced my fingers over the porcelain barrier.  It wasn’t smooth like I expected and had lots of stains and scratches on it, some of them obviously dried with blood.

I traced his forehead and eyebrows, his cheeks and nose, his jawline and chin before stopping at his lips.  I took my time feeling them; studying his eyes for any kind of reaction.  His look was extremely intense and scared.  His heart picked up its furious pace against my chest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I gently placed the tips of my fingers on the bottom edges of the mask, keeping my eyes locked on his.  I nudged it up as delicately as I could so as not to come off with too much force.

At once, his hands were on mine and he stopped me from making any more moves.

He shook his head and gently squeezed my wrists before pulling my hands together and clasping them between his.

My racing heart sank into my chest in disappointment, but he didn’t pull away and continued to stand there with me, his hands warm and soft over mine.

It was both an intense and tender moment between us. I could feel a tension building that was filled with uncomfortable anticipation. Neither one of us felt allowed to cross this imaginary boundary, but I could feel how strong our chemistry was.

I wanted more than anything in the world to ignite it and step into that fire. I wanted to feel him and to know all of his hidden, secret thoughts.  I wanted to feel his scars with my fingers and touch his skin with my lips.

He was sweet and overpowering at the same time.  His gentle demeanor added to his intrigue and I was dying to be closer to him.

I took that moment to just absorb what I had.  I released my hands from his and with my palms, slowly slid them down his chest until I could feel the buttons of his cardigan.  There were two that were unbuttoned on top so I skipped them and kept moving down.  I undid the other four slowly but assuredly, hoping like hell that he wouldn’t stop me.

Once his shirt was exposed, I pushed aside his cardigan just enough to press both of my palms on his stomach, able to feel the warmth and pressure of the soft muscles underneath.

Everything about him was delicate. It belied the tall stature that was pronounced in his broad shoulders. His physique made him appear statuesque and I was dying to get inside and chisel away at his porcelain walls.

For now all that I could do was move my hands from his stomach and around the sides of his body to his back.  I placed my palms behind him, feeling the long indentation of his spine. I continued to snake my arms around as completely as I could before letting my cheek rest on his chest, absorbing his scent and drinking in this presence that stood before me, with me, _against_ me.

We stood this way for a few moments when Brahms leaned down again into my ear.

“Fire, Stella.”

He grabbed my hand and led me down through the tunnels again, back to where we first started.  I realized then that the fire he was referring to wasn’t between us.  It was the candles that were lit downstairs.  He didn’t want them to catch fire.

My heart sank in utter disappointment.


End file.
